Lucia found herself frozen with shock, unable to think or move.
Magnus frantically pulled the arrows out of the king’s flesh and pressed his hands over the wounds, but it did nothing to help stanch the flow of crimson blood.
“No, you are not going to die. Not today.” Magnus’s hands were slick with his father’s blood as he slid the bloodstone ring onto the king’s finger.
Magnus then took several gulping breaths before he cast a pained look at Lucia.
“It’s not working. Do something!” he shouted at her. “Heal him!”
Lucia staggered to the king’s side and fell to her knees. She could sense the dark magic from the ring, the same magic that had saved both her father’s and brother’s lives before. The coldness of this magic repelled her. She had to force herself to get closer to it.
“What are you waiting for?” Magnus roared.
Lucia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will earth magic into her hands—the healing magic that had saved Magnus during the battle to take Auranos when he was moments from death. Since then, she’d mended his broken leg and countless cuts and scrapes. Such magic had become second nature to her.
She sensed a trace of this valuable magic within her, but far less than a prophesied sorceress should possess.
And far less than she’d need to heal an injury as profound as this.
Lucia already knew the horrible truth: Even if she had all the magic in the universe, it wouldn’t help.
Her gaze flicked to Cleo, who’d covered her mouth with her hand at the bloody sight before her, eyes wide and filled with horror. The princess came forward and put her shaky hand on Magnus’s shoulder, the thin, winding blue lines visible past the lacy sleeve of her violet gown.
Magnus didn’t push her away; his attention was far too fixed on Lucia.
“Well?” he demanded.
Hot tears streaked down Lucia’s cheeks. “I—I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean you’re sorry?” Magnus stared down at his father’s face, at his glazed, unblinking eyes. “Fix him.” His voice broke. “Please.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
The king was dead.
Lucia struggled to her feet. Tears streamed down her face as she ran from the balcony to her chambers.
“Get out!” she screamed at the nursemaid.
The nursemaid rushed out the door.
Lucia moved to the cradle and looked down upon Lyssa’s face, not with the love of a mother, but with blind fury.
Her eyes glowed with violet light.
“You’ve stolen my magic, haven’t you?” she hissed.
If her elementia had been close to the surface, easily accessible at the merest of thoughts, Lucia might have reacted quicker—after the first arrow hit.
But her senses had become dulled, useless.
And now her father was dead because of it.
“You’ve destroyed everything!” she snarled at the child.
Lyssa’s eyes shifted back to blue, and she looked up at her mother for a moment before she began to cry.
The sound pierced Lucia’s heart, and guilt washed over her.
“I am evil,” she whispered as she sank to the floor, pulling her legs up to hug them against her body. “It’s my fault, all my fault. It should have been me who died today, not Father.”
She stayed in that position for what felt like a very long time while Lyssa cried only an arm’s reach away. After a while, Magnus came to her door.
Lucia’s eyes were dry and her heart was empty of all emotion as she looked up at her brother.
“The assassin was captured before he managed to escape,” Magnus said. “I’ve asked to personally interrogate him.”
She waited, not speaking.
“I would appreciate your help, if you’re willing,” he said.
Yes, Lucia most definitely would be willing to interrogate their father’s murderer.
She pushed herself up to her feet and accompanied Magnus out of her chambers. The nursemaid waited patiently outside, glancing nervously at Lucia.
“My apologies for my harshness,” Lucia said to her.
The nursemaid bowed her head. “Not at all, your grace. My deepest condolences to you for your loss.”
Silently, her heart a lead weight deep within her chest, Lucia followed Magnus through the halls of the palace, barely seeing anything to her left or right, only putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way out of the building and down to the dungeon.
The prisoner was a young man, in his early twenties. He had been placed in small room, his wrists and ankles bound in iron chains and shackled to the stone wall.
“What is your name?” Magnus asked, his voice cold. He wore the bloodstone ring again, his hands now clean of the king’s blood.
The man didn’t reply.
Lucia had had so much to say to her father that would forever remain unsaid.
This assassin had stolen that from her.
Lucia turned a look of sheer hatred upon him.
“You will die for what you did today,” she spat.
The man glanced up at her only long enough to sneer. “You’re the witch daughter he spoke of,” he said. “Are you going to use your magic on me?”
“You don’t sound afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of any common witch.”
“Oh, I’m much more than that.” Lucia moved close enough to grab the man by his throat, digging her fingernails into his flesh and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Who are you? A rebel? Or an assassin?”
She tried to pull the truth from his mouth like she’d done with Lord Gareth, but he simply eyed her with defiance.
“I did what I did for Kraeshia,” he hissed. “For the empress. Do your worst to me, I have fulfilled my destiny.”
“For the empress,” Magnus repeated, his dark eyes narrowed. “Did Amara command you to kill the king, or did you make that decision all on your own?”
“And what if she did? You have no chance for revenge. She is far above all of you in this minuscule kingdom.” The killer narrowed his gaze at the prince. “Your father was a coward and a liar—a mere worm in the presence of magnificence—and he squandered his chance at true greatness by acting and speaking against the empress. I was commanded to kill him publicly so that everyone would know he’s dead.”
“Is that so?” Magnus said, the words so quiet Lucia could barely hear them.
Her fists shook with the overwhelming need to reduce this man to ash.
Her brother drew closer to the man. “I find that I must pay you a compliment in that your marksmanship is second to none. I’ve never seen anyone as skilled with a crossbow before. The guards tell me you were at the back of the crowd when you took aim at the king. Four arrows, not missing your target once. Amara must value you very much.”
The killer snorted. “Such a compliment is meaningless from anyone but the empress her—”
The blade of the dagger glinted in the torchlight just before Magnus thrust it upward into the man’s chin and straight into his brain.
Breath tight in her chest, Lucia watched as the man twitched then slumped over, perfectly still.
Magnus glanced at Lucia.
“What is wrong with your elementia?” he asked, his tone cold and controlled.